


Wasteland Wanderer

by ProximaPolyhedron



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Bandits & Outlaws, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Mutation, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Nuclear War, Psychological Trauma, Robots, Science Fiction, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:40:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22834924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProximaPolyhedron/pseuds/ProximaPolyhedron
Summary: Nearly two hundred years have passed since we saw the devastation of the three brothers Pollution, Toxicity, and Atomico- and their fathers many fled the earth. We are living in a world of devastation now. Raiders destroy our livelihoods while Imperials steal our children. Law is sparse, and rarely just.





	1. Introduction

Hello all!

I welcome you to one of my oldest and most dedicated projects, the ATOMIC APOCALYPSE series. What started out as a project wholly inspired by the game _Nuclear Throne_ has really taken on its own life in the three years since I started writing it.

As I've written it over and over again, I've come to think of it in a lot of different ways, almost all of them being its forms of homage. It's _X-Men_ meets _Blade Runner_ and _Mad Max_ , as written by David Cronenberg. It's _Terminator_ , if you were supposed to sympathize with Skynet. It's _Fallout_ if pre-war society was really into _Led Zeppelin_. It's a tale of a world torn apart and the people trying to stitch together new life from the remains. It's a soft-science nightmare where radiation is the new era life force. It's anti-capitalist propaganda pushed forward by green-blooded super-mutants with chainsaw greatswords and repeating railguns!!! 

I've let myself have a lot of fun in designing this world, and I like to think that you'll have fun reading it, too. At least, I hope you will.

Wasteland Wanderer is set about a century and a half after the last bomb fell, in the ruined remains of what could have been Australia before the entire world got dropped in a nuclear blender. Tectonic devastation from cracking open the planet has irreparably shifted the landscape, leaving everything an unrecognizable mess. I'll draw out a map, but for the time being I'll have to lay things out in text. This is to create context as much as it is to record my own notes.

To the north is one of the two human territories, the **Imperials**. They believe that the salvation of humanity lies in rebuilding society. Their cities, and their territory as a whole, are all lined with massive concrete walls guarded by incredibly dense security systems. Inside, cities of concrete, glass, and neon house as many humans as can be packed into each building.

To the south is the other human territory, the **Bandits** \- though they like the term "Roamers." Twelve or so major gangs rule this land, with twice as many middling gangs ruling what's left over, and countless parties and small groups fighting over what they can steal. The roads are chaotic and unruly, patrolled by scrappers and raiders.

To the east is the land of the **Mutants** , who succumbed to the three brothers and evolved into new life. They manage societies in the irradiated cities, where they merge mutated life and advanced technologies to feed their green kingdom. Humans are strictly disallowed here, after two hundred years of violence and persecution.

To the west, most believe, is nothing. But rumors abound that the **Robot** city lays within its depths- where no organic life may pass.

Welcome to the world of ATOMIC APOCALYPSE! I hope you enjoy it. 


	2. Sand

A deep red sun lowered on the wastes. It was not the rays of a brilliant sunset, painting the sky in contrasting hues as it slowly faded through the spectrum. It was a long, dull crimson that burned through a haze of smog, turning the sands a sanguine shade. It promised nothing to its dead world, save that those with poor respiration would suffer tonight. Plodding through the desert, a two-headed dog fought itself for a scrap of meat. As one head struggled to take as big a piece as possible, the other tugged firmly, dragging more and more away with each desperate snap. The twinned creature pricked both sets of ears at the sound of roaring engines, only a few hundred yards away. Both heads tore the meat in two, a silent pact made in the shadow of a greater threat. As it hastily fled beneath a low crag, the roaring grew louder. Soon, a lone rider tore through the sand. Two more followed shortly after.

K gunned the engine of her scrap bike, pleading with it to outlast her pursuers. She didn’t need it to go much longer, just take her far enough from Roughrider territory that they would get bored and turn back. Its response was silent, making no promise as she pulled onto the worn, hardened road. Her eyes flitted down to the mirror, then back to the road. They weren’t turning away. Her fuel gauge screamed silently, the needle bouncing vigorously against the stop as it repeatedly informed her of her tank’s dwindling petrol supply. Escape was no option.

She felt for her sidearm, tucked carefully inside her jacket. The assault rifle was long since emptied, but her pistol had a sparse three bullets. She couldn’t risk wasting them on a road fight. Her engine backfired, then again. She was running out of fumes. She furrowed her brow, pulled to the side, and slid to a halt, immediately dropping behind the now defunct bike as makeshift cover. Predictably, her pursuers pulled to a halt in the middle of the road with all the tactics of a duck in a pond. She drew her sidearm and waited for them to step onto the ground.

The first of the two, burly and broad shouldered with a goggle-eyed gas mask, stepped down first. Her focus tightened in on him and, in one quick move, she snapped the gun forward and fired. Down he went. The second, shorter and skinnier, seemed a bit wilier- before she could take aim at him, he had already ducked behind his bike. She heard the sound of a loading shotgun.

“I’ll make it easy on you!” she shouted into the now-silent air. “You can take your friend’s gear and go back to your hideout. Leave his bike.”  
“Like hell I will, freak! Get out here and drop your gun ‘fore I put one thru your engine and scrag you ‘cross the ground!”  
“Bike’s empty, numbnuts. All’s you’d cost me is a working tank.”

Silence followed.

“You don’t have to do this,” she added. “You know I’m more dangerous than you can handle. How many of your friends did I kill?”  
“…eight.”  
“I counted more.”  
“They weren’t my friends.”

The loading stopped, but she didn’t hear him cock the weapon. Curious. Moreover, the overt hostility seemed to fade. She hadn’t noticed until now- but it felt distinctly less threatening.

“What’s your name, stranger?”  
“Why don’t you probe my mind and find out, freak?”  
“It’s much nicer to ask.”

Silence again, if only for a moment.

“…Tar.”  
“Tar. Creative. Did you come up with it yourself?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Tell me, Tar. Do you like hunting mutants?”  
“Fuck you.”  
“Calm down. It’s not an accusation, just a question. You can answer honestly, it’s just you and me.”  
“Uh.”

She waited.

“I… I guess not.”  
“I have to say, that was the answer I was kind of hoping for.”

K heard a stifled chuckle.

“It’s okay to let me go,” she continued. “You’ve lost one rider already, plus the others. No sense in one more.”  
“I can’t go back empty-handed. Boss wants your head.”  
“Do you have to go back?”

More silence.

“Put the gun down, Tar. I’ll put down mine as well. We can sit and talk.”  
“I… I feel kinda weird, talkin’ to a pretty lady in front of Burke’s dead body.”  
“Do you want me to drag him into the sand?”  
“I’ll, uh, help.”  
“Sounds good. Treaty?”  
“Treaty.”

K watched the shotgun slide across the hard dirt road. Carefully, she tossed her pistol so it would land beside it. When she stood, he was already up, hands raised. Hers were as well. She lowered them, and he followed. Treaty had been called. No violence would pass between them until they parted ways again. She stepped around her bike and lifted her visor, and he raised his goggles.

“How old are you?” She carefully eyed him over. His skin was sallow, but not wrinkled- and it still seemed supple. His hair was gone, and though the goggles obscured his brow, she expected it was bare as well.  
“U-uh, I think I’m twenty-five.”  
“Stigma?”

He nodded without a word.

“I’m sorry. You don’t need to worry about me, It’s been months since I last caught any rads.”  
“Oh no, I didn’t think you were, I, uh- are you gonna be ok? I’m pretty sure I still got em.”  
“I’ll be fine. Let’s haul… Burke, was it?”  
“Mhm.”  
“Let’s get him off the road.”

Together, the two hauled the hefty corpse into the sand. K pulled what she could find from his pockets, sorting through the bullets, drugs, blades, and bits of metal.

“Which one?” she asked, holding out the various trinkets he was carrying. Tar pointed to a plain iron ring, the inside polished to a mirror finish. Its corners were carefully beveled- not ground by a sander, but carved and buffed.  
“It’s lovely,” She added. “Do you want to say some words?”  
Tar shook his head. “Nothin’ nice to say anyway.”

She nodded, and carefully folded Burke’s hands over his chest, with the ring beneath them. She carried the remainder of the goods to her bag, and pulled out two cans- one labeled ‘beans,’ the other ‘meat.’ She returned around the side of the bike and sat down in the road.

“You can have the meat if you like. I think it might be dog food, if you don’t mind.”  
“That’s fine,” he replied.  
The two tapped the corners of their cans together, and peeled back the tabbed lids. Tar drew a knife to dole out his meal, while K just poured the cold, saucy beans into her mouth. The two sat in silence while they ate. Eventually, Tar broke it first.

“I didn’t mean nothin’ by callin’ you freak.”  
“It’s okay. I don’t blame you for it, you were scared.”  
“I thought you said you weren’t readin’ my mind.”  
“I didn’t, I could just tell.”  
“Oh.”

K sat there quietly for a while, occasionally glancing over at Tar. By now, he seemed to have calmed down considerably. She smiled at him, and he nervously returned the look.

“What are you doing with the Roughriders?” She inquired.  
“Makin’ a livin’, I guess. I kinda just… did it.”  
“What did you do before?”  
“Pop owned a car store in steelgrind. Bought, sold, fixed… he wanted me to help him fix ‘em up, but I never did it right. Then, they showed up. Soon as he wasn’t lookin’, I hopped on a truck and put him in my rear view.”  
“I was just in steelgrind. Caver’s?”  
“That’s the one.”  
“He keeps a drawing of you on his desk.”

Tar fell completely silent. He stared, wide-eyed, out to the horizon before slowly tilting his head back. It hit the seat of his bike and he shut his eyes. Moments later, his shoulders were shaking as tears streamed down his cheeks. K said nothing.

“He- He didn’t have no drawin’ when I was there,” he said, his words choked.  
“I imagine he didn’t need it when he had the real thing.”  
He sniveled and let out a sigh. His head was turned away, and a soft breath slid out of him. Eventually, he looked back at her.  
“So’s this what you do? Read people’s thoughts, make up stories so they feel bad and let you free?”  
“I can’t read thoughts, Tar. At all.” She gave him a soft smile. “The ones that can do that have had a fair bit more Toxum than me. And they look much different.”  
He swallowed his tears, wiped his eyes and looked at her curiously.  
“Besides,” she added. “I don’t want you to let me free. I want you to come with me.”  
He seemed taken aback, but he shook his head to clear his mind. “I… I don’t understand. Why?”  
“Roads are dangerous. You seem trustworthy. We’ve shared a meal, and you’ve told me a story about yourself. That’s at least three marks for friend.”  
“I ain’t that good, miss.”  
“Neither am I.”

He blinked, staring in confusion, before eventually giving the wide-eyed sigh of resigned acceptance. “I mean… if you want. I don’t… I never…”  
“Don’t trouble yourself. I only have three rules, alright?”  
“I can cop to that. What are they?”  
“Firstly, no hurting people who don’t need it. Second, don’t touch my skin. Third; yours is yours, mine is mine, ours is ours.”  
“That seems fine.”  
“I figured as much.”  
“Why no touchin’?”  
“My mutation is based in the nerves. When I touch someone’s skin, it makes a bridge, kind of, from my brain to theirs. It’s overwhelming and generally unpleasant.”  
“Oh. I- I’m sorry. You uh… must not have liked the boss grabbin’ your face like that.”  
“It was largely repulsive. But I did learn where he stashed his goods.”

K stood up and began unloading her bags from her bike. Tar, recognizing her intent, wheeled the other two over to the side of the road. They continued to speak as she pulled out a toolbelt and started pulling off spare parts.

“Is that why he sent us for you?”  
“Yup. I imagine he wanted some quality men to go out and get back his things.”  
“Wh… why’d he only send two of us?”  
“A big party draws a lot of attention. He didn’t want word getting out that I stole what I stole.”  
“Okay,” Tar continued, understanding rising in his voice. “Well, then what would he do if I told folks?”  
“He probably would have had you killed before you got back. Which means-” she grunted as she yanked out a vital piece- “That you aren’t the best in his service.”  
“I mean… I think I’m pretty good.”  
“Did he send you on a lot of missions to the outlands?”  
“Yeah, but-”  
“Then he didn’t value you.” She took a break to look over her shoulder. “His mistake. Come help me over here?”  
“Oh, sure.” He nodded and knelt beside her, carefully pulling the tubing out of the now-empty fuel line. She pointed at a thin, yet stiff plastic hose.  
“Right there, see that? Hydraulics are still good.”  
“Yeah, but hang on. The dustport models always snap if you don’t pull out the safety screw first.”  
She watched in silence as he picked up the screwdriver, carefully withdrawing a long screw from the inside of the system.  
“Alright, she’s all yours.”  
She smiled at him, then reached up and tugged out the intact suspension.  
“Thank you.”  
“Thank you too.”

The two stood up from the skeletal bike, and K shouldered her bag once more.

“Where to, miss?”  
“It’s K.”  
“Sorry, K. Where to?”  
“I’m so glad you asked.”

She pulled out a rugged roll of canvas, roughly two feet wide. She laid it out atop the bike, and slid her finger around a big empty space. “I’m looking for something in this area. Actually, you may be able to help me… I’m not from here, I don’t know what gangs own that land.”

Tar nodded, and started pointing to sections of the map.  
“Okay, well… that river there, next to that big rock? Roughies call that Big Dare. We like pokin’ fun at the newbys and makin’ em jump in the water off of it.”  
K snorted. She recalled that the rock, while large, was not especially high up for the depth of the water. “Okay, so we have a landmark. Good.”  
“Yup.” His finger dragged a line directly southwest. “That’s the border ‘tween Huskers and Metalheads. They own most of the area you’re lookin’ at.”  
She tapped the remaining corner of the unmarked map. “What about here?”  
“Well, there ain’t much in that space, but just south of it’s the border of the Craw Mouths.”  
“You don’t sound especially happy about those folk.”  
“They killed a lot of Roughies. Tough ones, too. They carry some pretty big hardware, lotsa springs and bolts and saws.”  
“Engineers?”  
“That’s what most folk seem to think.”  
“Then what I’m hunting is probably in their territory.”

Tar backed up from the map. When K looked up, his eyes were wide and his brow was furrowed. She stepped towards him and he turned that look on her. Quietly, she put a hand on his shoulder.

“Talk to me, Tar.”  
“Them’s guys ain’t much for messin’ with. I appreciate your offer, Miss K, but I think if you’re goin’ that way, I’ll take my chances ridin’ back to steelgrind.”

She nodded, and rolled up the map.  
“I understand. Don’t worry, my hunt can wait. It’s taken me long enough to find where it is, it can wait a few days more. Why don’t we give your dad a visit, shore up in town? We’ll train up, get some better gear, and see how you feel by then. If you still don’t want to go with me, you’re welcome to go where you like.”  
He nodded slowly as his expression relaxed. “I’m sorry about that, Miss K. I don’t mean to trouble you none, but I’d sooner live than throw myself away.”  
“That’s good, Tar. That means you’re a survivor.”  
“It does?”  
“Yes. Smart people know when to choose their fights. And I like the idea of finding better numbers.”  
“I, uh. Me too.”  
“Good. Now, pack up what you need.” She nodded over at the guns, and he shook his head.  
“What’s wrong?” She asked, suddenly puzzled.  
“Treaty rules. You called it, so I can’t pick up my weapon ‘til you give it to me.”  
“Oh, of course. I nearly forgot.”

She chuckled and strode over to both weapons. Calmly, she handed him back his gun. She felt his fear return for a moment, but it subsided when he caught her calm smile.  
“They’d… still let me in if I took you to ‘em.”  
“Do you want them to?”  
He wouldn’t hurt her, she already knew it in his eyes. She had given him a way out- he wouldn’t take a way back. He shook his head.

“You’re your own man now, Tar.”  
“Michael.”  
She tilted her head.  
“Pop called me Michael.”  
She grinned. He smiled back. The two of them lowered their eyewear and mounted up, ready to take off for steelgrind as the sky grew dark.


End file.
